Of Salary and Taxes
by alynwa
Summary: Napoleon discovers something about Illya.


Illya opened his apartment door to Napoleon who was standing there suitcase in hand. "Come in, Napoleon. I will be ready in a few minutes. We need to stop at HQ before we go to the airport."

"Why, what are you doing?" the American asked as he put his valise down and followed his partner to his kitchen table.

"I am already packed to go, but I decided to put all my documents together so that Accounting can do my taxes while we are gone.*"

"You mean I actually got my paperwork to Melania before _you _did? I'm shocked!"

Illya shrugged, "Miracles happen. I will be right back; there are some papers I need in my bedroom."

Napoleon sat at the table and being naturally curious, began to peruse the forms the Russian had already assembled. The first one piqued his interest, the second one caused his jaw to drop and each one thereafter caused even more surprise.

"Can I help you find something?" Illya growled as he came into view. "Why are you being so nosy?"

Napoleon had the good manners to be embarrassed. "Sorry, it's my nature. I'm a spy, after all." He handed the papers to his partner and watched him as he put them into a manila folder.

Illya could feel his partner's eyes upon him as he placed the folder into his briefcase. "What is it?"

"How do you have so much money? Shares of IBM and AT&amp;T? CDs? Illya, you're quite well off! I had no idea."

Illya's eyes widened and his first reaction was to become miffed, but he quickly calmed down and shook his head. "You really do not have any boundaries when it comes to me, do you?" he laughed in spite of himself. "When Mr. Waverly struck the deal with the KGB for me to essentially be hired by UNCLE, there were quite a few conditions that both sides wanted. One of the biggest bones of contention was my salary. My superiors were astounded by what they considered the exorbitant pay UNCLE agents receive. They said it was far too much, I would not know what to do with all that money and demanded that UNCLE pay the KGB my salary and they would issue me a stipend. Mr. Waverly said that simply was not going to happen."

"I never knew that! So what happened?"

"Mr. Waverly got his way, as usual. When I first arrived in New York, he had me sit down with Accounting and Human Resources staff who gave me a crash course in banking, saving and investing." He shrugged his shoulders. "I followed their advice. I am used to living frugally, so it is easy for me to save and invest money. I would have more if you paid me what you owe me."

Ignoring the dig, Napoleon marveled, "You're building yourself a nice little nest egg, Tovarisch. I'd better continue to be nice to you; I might need someone to take care of me in my old age."

Pulling on his coat Illya opined, "The other week when I stayed at your place, I watched a cartoon about a grasshopper and an ant. All summer long, the ant worked hard gathering food and firewood for the winter while the grasshopper played in the warmth of the sun. When winter came, the ant was warm, well – fed and comfortable while the grasshopper was freezing to death in a snowstorm."

"I've seen that cartoon, Partner Mine and as I recall, the grasshopper came knocking on the ant's door looking for food and shelter and the ant brought him inside to stay."

Stepping out onto the street, the two men walked to Napoleon's car and got in for the drive to Headquarters. "So you are telling me, Grasshopper," Illya replied drolly as he settled into the seat, "that I can expect to see a gray – haired ex – spy at my door seeking entrance forty years from now?"

Napoleon smiled as he steered through Manhattan traffic. "Of course not, I'm Aunt Amy's primary heir; I'll be fine. _I'm _saying, Ant, that if I had a reversal of fortune, I know I could come to you and not be turned away."

Illya flashed a big smile. "Oh, you know that, do you? You are very sure of yourself."

"I am very sure of our friendship. I don't hear you telling me to take a hike."

Illya turned to watch the store windows glide by. "Blockhead."

*ref. "The Tax Day Cometh"


End file.
